


Corporate Synergy

by steveelotaku



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Dark Comedy, Gen, Snark, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23808943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveelotaku/pseuds/steveelotaku
Summary: Albert Wesker has a terrible day at work.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Corporate Synergy

“Ah, Wesker! Good morning!” Daniel Fabron said, opening the door to the boardroom. “You’re just in time for the meeting. I have a lot of promising designs for you today!”

_It’s not a good morning. It’s barely a morning. Push it further and I’m going to kill you and no court on earth would convict me,_ Wesker thought, bitterly.

“Yes, I’m sure Umbrella Europe has been busy,” Wesker said. “I’m a bit pressed, I’m afraid, I apologize heartily if I seem a bit agitated.”

“Understandable,” Fabron said, calmly. “Lord Spencer has told me everything.”

_Oh, that motherfucker, I swear I’m going to strangle him with his own oxygen cord—okay, calm thoughts, Wesker. Calm thoughts. There’ll be time to gut Lord Spencer later once you sell these corporate asshats down the river…_

“Ah, yes. The matter of Raccoon City, I take it?” Wesker asked, calmly.

“The Tyrant’s failure, regrettably, was a setback, no?” Fabron said, only slightly smugly. “I mean, your work has promise, Wesker, but what is it your people say? Dad says it’s my turn on the Playstation?”

Wesker gritted his teeth and made a sound like sucking limes.

“Nobody _says_ that. Except children, which doubtless you identify with. I’m told Europeans are young at heart.”

“You wound me, Wesker! Look, you’re going to _love_ what we have in store…”

Wesker took his seat at the head of the table, looking at a screen.

“Is it really necessary for you to wear those sunglasses in here?” Daniel asked.

“They’re not coming off,” Wesker said. “I have some trouble with bright light.”

“Might explain why your division is so dim, huh?”

“All this light and I still can’t see the point yet, Fabron. Are you going to present, or keep posturing?”

“Right,” Fabron muttered, irritated. “Here are our new projects…”

A slide popped up.

A bloated-looking giant salamander that appeared to be made of human skin appeared.

“We’ve taken over the Hunter Gamma project from Umbrella USA…”

Wesker sighed.

“Point of order: _why_?”

“Simple, Wesker. There are a lot of countries where aquatic warfare is profitable. Consider off the coast of Japan, for instance, or any island nation.”

“We cancelled the project for a reason, Fabron. The standard Hunter model works perfectly well, and I fail to see the use for a slow, near-blind monstrosity whose only useful ability, that is, unhinging its jaw, slowly revealing four tongues, grabbing the target and eating them whole, is also its greatest weakness. It’s got psychological warfare advantage, and that’s about it. Perhaps if we were killing the homeless, it might be useful, but if we’re selling this as a weapon and not an exercise in social Darwinism, our customers are going to want something that can’t be beaten by repeatedly shooting it in its gigantic mouth. Also, it’s basically allergic to fire, which tends to be something that you find on or near a battlefield.”

“True, it’s specialized,” Fabron said. “We were thinking of keeping it as a made-to-order option. Besides, you’re one to talk about the uselessness of Hunter variants. Was it not your division that made the Hunter Beta? Ooh, I’m so scared of a Hunter with _cancer that makes it blind in one eye!_ ”

“At least it’s _fast_ ,” Wesker deadpanned. “And can hear well. And doesn’t reek of sewage and entitlement like some people I know.”

“Yes, I imagine it’s difficult working in the American offices,” Fabron quipped.

He clicked to the next slide.

“Look, there’s a bunch of other things we’ve been working on—Ticks, the Ivan project, but…the main thing I wanted to talk to you about today is my answer to your little S.T.A.R.S. problem.”

He clicked again, and this time a Tyrant appeared.

“This is a great weapon! I love it! But the problem is, it’s very limited. And frankly, if it couldn’t kill a bunch of cops in a mansion full of every nightmare known to man, well, I think it needs an upgrade, no?”

Wesker sighed.

“The Tyrant’s failure, I’ll admit, was disappointing.”

_Little did you know I meant for it to fail,_ Wesker noted to himself.

“Hey, we all make mistakes, Wesker! But I have the perfect solution.”

He clicked to a slide showing a burnt, almost melted Tyrant in what appeared to be a black trenchcoat made of garbage bags with a metal heart strapped to its chest.

“Say hello to Nemesis. Parasite-enhanced Tyrant designed for pursuit and systematic eradication. I dressed it with you in mind.”

Wesker raised an eyebrow and ignored the insult.

“Very interesting, but…parasite-enhanced?”

“Simple,” Fabron said. “We’ve cultivated a special parasite that increases the regenerative ability of the standard Tyrant model, _and_ allows for ranged attack capability and infestation ability on T-virus infected individuals.”

He showed footage of the Nemesis sprouting tendrils and gutting scientists.

“Very impressive, Fabron, I’ll give you that, but…it seems all you’ve done is given a Tyrant an STD. Tell me, why should I care? I’m noticing that price tag at the bottom and it’s easily ten times that of a standard Tyrant. If all this is is a Tyrant that can heal itself and shoot tentacles from its arm, then you’re really wasting my time.”

“Fear not, my impatient friend, for this is where it gets impressive!”

Another video played of Nemesis using a rocket launcher and flamethrower, then getting hit by a missile and mutating into a gigantic, crawling monstrosity that sliced through armoured vehicles.

“As you can see, not only can Nemesis wield a variety of ranged weapons, but it can also survive heavy firepower and adapt to a more anti-vehicle form. It transforms, it infects, it wields high-powered artillery. Sure, it’s expensive, but Lord Spencer tells me it’s exactly what he wanted for Christmas.”

Wesker facepalmed.

“You are a child, Fabron. An utter and complete child. My plan would have involved simply shooting the S.T.A.R.S. team dead in their beds. Or at very least, sending a disguised Tyrant like we planned for covering up the whole mess at R.P.D. that Irons caused. This? What even _is_ this? A GI Joe with accessory kits? The latest Transformer? I asked for a subtle assassination tool, and you’ve given me _Alien: Resurrection_! And the _name!_ Are we a weapons division or a b-movie studio? I can see it now! Coming this Fall from the Umbrella Corporation—Nemesis! A terror beyond imagining! Rated R!”

Just then, a phone went off. “Sunglasses at Night” rang through the boardroom as Fabron reached into his pocket. Wesker gritted his teeth as Fabron flashed an insincere smile and answered.

“Allo? Oh, Lord Spencer! Yes, I’ll put you on speaker.”

“Hello, Wesker. Fabron. Good to see you two at work.”

“Yes, it’s _splendid_ ,” Wesker muttered. “He’s just showing me his latest invention.”

“Nemesis, right? What a wonderful weapon. Very classical in style and execution. It’s amazing what one can do with science, isn’t it?”

“I’m just concerned about the cost,” Wesker offered. “Isn’t a Tyrant more frugal?”

“We have the spare cash,” Spencer answered. “Besides, the last Tyrant proved…problematic. Let’s give Europe’s branch a shot. Worst case scenario, we scrap the Nemesis project and go back to the drawing board.”

“At least let me send one of my last Tyrants as backup. New product is often unreliable at first test.”

“Agreed. Fabron, Nemesis will take care of the remaining S.T.A.R.S. members, and a Tyrant will be dispatched to handle R.P.D.’s regular staff.”

“It’s great we can get along, isn’t it?” Fabron said, smirking. “Please, tell me you’re not thinking of using that ridiculous ‘Mr. X’ costume for it?”

“The name is T-103,” Wesker said, sighing.

“We all call him Mr. X because he looks like the mascot of that board game _Scotland Yard_.”

“I’d best leave you to it,” Lord Spencer said, laughing.

He hung up.

Several painful hours later, Wesker muttered angrily into his phone.

“Nikolai, I need you to do me a favour. Go to Raccoon City. See that you destroy all evidence of my involvement and also set up Umbrella’s downfall. You’ll be paid handsomely. Also, before you go…get that braindead Licker you found and put it in Fabron’s office.”

“Of course, sir,” Nikolai said, laughing, on the other end.

Wesker sighed.

“I’m going to almost miss S.T.A.R.S…”

He thought of Chris and his terrible puns.

“Almost.”

Before he left work that evening, Wesker took a look at one last email, security footage of Fabron’s office. The Frenchman was running around screaming as the Licker calmly sat, oblivious, in his desk chair.

“I see Fabron’s replacement is a distinct improvement.”


End file.
